


the words you spoke

by siempreniall



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-14
Updated: 2015-03-14
Packaged: 2018-03-17 19:37:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3541487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siempreniall/pseuds/siempreniall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Taylor hasn't done this before--showing her exes the songs she's written about them before the rest of the world gets its chance. Harry, though... Harry's always been different, hasn't he?</p><p>A story in ten parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. fade into view

**Author's Note:**

  * For [el_em_en_oh_pee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/el_em_en_oh_pee/gifts).



> This was supposed to be Saskia's Christmas present, then her birthday present, then her "finished your grant proposal" present. Now it's just her present. She's gonna yell at me about it all the same, though.

It’s an accident the first time it happens.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Taylor takes a few seconds before she responds, but it’s mostly so that she appears to think it over rather than actually do it.

“Of course, you should hear these songs first—they’re about you,”

Harry’s eyes bug out a bit.

“All of them?”

“Nooooooooo,” she draws it out, because it’s fun and true, “Not all of them. A lot of them, probably, but not all of them,”

“A lot of them?”

“Yes, Harry, that’s what I just said,”

He stops and rubs a hand over his jaw; there’s a peek of stubble that wasn’t there when she left.

“Here, in the party?”

“No, I guess not,” she admits, finally. A party full of celebrities and industry insiders would not be the place to blast a song from her album that’s months and months away. But again, she’s sure she wants Harry to hear it, and she’s sure that she probably won’t feel the same after tonight. So she does what her tipsy mind says.

“Come to mine after,” she slurs, just a little.

Harry coughs. “Your house?”

“Yeah, I presume you know where it is,”

“Of course,”

“And you’re okay with going there?”

“I don’t see why not. Should I ride home with you or…”

Taylor purses her lips and scowls.

“Right,” Harry continues, “that was a shit question. When are you leaving?”

“Soon, probably. Especially if I’ve got a listening party to plan,”

Harry laughs and takes a look around the room, “Okay, well, I have to go home with my ride, but I’ll probably just change and drive over to your place after,”

Her eyes narrow, “Drive?”

“I haven’t had a lick to drink all night,” he reassures her, “I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,”

“Try and hurry though. I’m near exhausted and I’ve been having daydreams about my bed for the past hour,”

“I’ll be quick!”

**

Harry’s quick. Taylor’s barely had time to get home and change out of her dress, change into a sleepshirt and some shorts, before she can hear Harry knocking. She hasn’t even had time to wash off her makeup, but she’ll get there later.

She hurries through the house to let him in. But it’s then, finally, as she’s sobered up a bit and has time to reflect, that she realizes it’s probably a horrible idea. It could all go wrong, it could be awkward as hell, he could hate the song. But she turns the lock and opens the door, and Harry walks in before she can stop herself from letting him.

“Place looks the same,” he notes, shucking off his jacket and hanging it on the same hook he always used to.

“Find your way back here alright?”

“Yeah. Actually, I drive this way a little too often,”

Taylor stops. “What do you mean?”

“The guy I’m crashing with-”

“Jack?”

“Jeff,”

“Close enough,”

“He only lives a few streets behind you. And sometimes when I’m driving home, out of habit I’ll turn a few streets too early. So I’ll end up driving by you,”

Taylor stills. She has nothing to say that. Well, she has a lot to say about that, actually, but nothing will come out.

“Don’t worry; I’m not trying to be creepy-”

“I’m not accusing you,”

“It’s just a habit I’m trying to break,”

“And you didn’t ever want to stop by?” she asks, a little more timidly than she would like.

“Didn’t think you would want me to,”

Taylor’s stomach flutters a little, in a way that it hasn’t recently. But she has to break out of her stupor, because Harry’s her guest and they’ve been standing in her entryway ever since he got in.

“Well,” she starts, clapping her hands together and moving quickly towards the living room, “Let’s get listening, shall we,”

Harry doesn’t say anything, just toes off his shoes (like she’s told him a million times) and follows her in.

“So, how’s the album coming along?” he asks. She would think it’s just small talk, but Harry’s always been interested in the production side of music. He’d probably love to meet Max and Shellback too; she makes a mental note to introduce them should she ever get the chance.

“Pretty nicely, I think. Still weeding out parts of songs I don’t like, and all I’ve got are some rough demos, but out of all the songs I think this one’s the most solid. And it’s… you just have to listen to it, alright?”

She sits down on the armchair by the speakers and Harry chooses the sofa across from her. He looks comfortable in a pair of jeans and a soft gray sweatshirt. His hair’s getting long, and Taylor thinks she likes it.

“Okay!” Harry yells. He claps his hands and leans forward to brace himself on his knees, “Let’s hear it, then,”

Taylor pulls her phone out of the bag resting on the table and plugs it in, but before pressing play she stops.

“Just, reserve judgment,” she says quickly.

“On what?”

“Things,”

“Smooth,”

She presses play before she can stop herself and sits back in her chair, tucking her feet underneath her. It would probably be a good idea to not stare at him as he listens, for the first time, to a song named after him. But Taylor’s full of many ideas, and they’re not always good.

“It’s not very country,” Harry notes as the music starts. She laughs.

“That’s the point,”

“I like it. I feel like we should be down the highway in the ‘80s or something,”

“Funny you should say that,”

She shuts up so that Harry can listen to the words, because while she’s proud of the musical arrangement she supposes he’d be more interested in the lyrics.

He moves his head along to the movie, smiling a bit, but once he gets to the chorus he seems to freeze a bit, mouthing the word “style” after it’s sung. Taylor’s stomach tightens a little, and she wonders if maybe she should’ve just waited, or left the room and let him listen alone.

And during the bridge, as she belts through the words, Harry stops moving entirely. The song ends and Taylor feels as if she can finally breathe.

“What’s it called?” Harry asks immediately.

“Is that important?” he raises his eyebrows, “Okay— _Style_ ,”

“Holy! Wow!”

“Don’t be mad!” she rushes to say, “Because. It’s not a bad song, right? I mean, obviously, the music is solid, but it paints us in a good light, yeah? Like compatible, I’m not mad at you, I’m seeing your side-”

“I’m not mad,” he explains, “It’s just weird, you know? Like to listen to a song about yourself, and if there were ever any doubts, well,”

“I didn’t set out to do it originally, okay. It was the whole style thing. Like, it just got stuck in my head that people and relationships can be trends in that they don’t go out of style. And then I realized that, well, your name, and. Just. At first it scared me and I tried to figure out a way to reword what I was thinking, but then I decided to embrace it,”

“And the _take me home_?”

She jumps up. “That! Was brilliant, okay. It’s not… you have to hear the song,”

“I just did?”

“No, _Stand Back_  by Stevie Nicks. I was listening to her one night, and that song, at the end she just belts that line out. And it’s so raw and emotional. To me, it’s just a line that’s confused between being angry but wanting to be taken home. I related to it, and it just _happened_ to be the name of your album. I’m sorry,”

Harry cracks a grin, “Was just funny, is all. Do you always get so defensive when you show exes these songs?”

She shakes her head and shrugs, “Dunno, I’ve never done this before,”

“Never?”

“Nope. I don’t run things past exes,”

“You ran this past me,”

“I just get emails after the fact. Sometimes they say nice things, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes guys say things in interviews two years after the song came out, right when they’ve got an album dropping, but that’s none of my business, is it?”

“So why do I get a special sneak peek?”

Taylor purses her lips, “You… are kind. You’ve given me my space and haven’t bothered me about this—about the breakup or the album. You understand what it’s like to be a musician, to write songs about your life. Do I need to go on?”

“No, that’s satisfactory,”

“So do you like it?”

“Does it matter?”

“Not really, but I want to hear it,”

“I think it’s a smart song with wicked lyrics and it’ll get stuck in the minds of millions come eight months,”

“But I mean… do you think it’s alright what I wrote about?”

“I already said. You’re a songwriter and it’s your life and-”

“Don’t give me bullshit Harry feelings. Tell me what you think; this is why I asked you to come,”

“I think I come off as a sexy lothario, and we come off as people who come back to each other,”

“And?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

Taylor smiles and nods, smoothing over her legs because her hands need to do something.

“Can I listen to it again?” he asks.

“Why?”

“Well, I’m assuming you’re not sending me home with a souvenir copy?”

She shakes her head.

“So, I’d like to hear it a few more times so I can really listen to all the parts of it. I really remember is the _style_ and the _take me home_. Does that make me self-centered?”

“Possibly, but that’s part of your charm,”

“So can I?”

“Let’s switch spots,” she says as she moves from her chair, “I need to lie down because I _really am tired_ ,”

Harry takes her spot on the chair and Taylor kicks back on the sofa. It’s large and warm and made of the softest material Taylor could find.

“Now don’t go falling asleep on me, Swift,” he says with a little lilt in his voice.

Taylor smiles and closes her eyes.


	2. left a permanent mark

Taylor wakes up with a pink blanket thrown over her. The lights are turned off but the sun streams steadily through the front windows. She turns her head and finds Harry asleep on the floor in front of the other sofa, and it’s so Harry it hurts.

“Hey,” she says softly, just to test if he’s asleep. He doesn’t so much as stir so she reaches over and pokes his foot, repeats herself a little louder.

“Hey, you up?”

He stretches at that, like a cat, and blinks his eyes open.

“Good morning,” he sing-songs, “Look at that, you weren’t asleep after all,”

“In my defense, I told you I was tired. How long were you up?”

He picks himself up and sits cross-legged on the floor. “I only listened to the song once, if that’s what you’re asking. You fell asleep before the chorus, I reckon. Then I went to sleep,”

“On the floor?”

“The sofa was a bit too soft,”

“…But the floor?”

He grins, “Leave me alone,”

“Do you want breakfast? I’m starving, and a little hung over,”

“What are you offering?”

“Coffee and cereal, as that’s all I have. I’m going back to New York soon,”

“Shame, but I’ll take that,”

They move slowly and lazily into the kitchen, where she turns on the coffee maker and pours them bowls of that organic cereal Karlie told her to try. It’s a little dry and a little dull, but it’s fine.

They sit on opposite sides of her kitchen table, the one she hasn’t touched in months, and eat in silence. Now, with the lack of alcohol and the lack of anything to talk about that isn’t awkward or painful, Taylor says the one thing she can (and probably shouldn’t) think of-

“You wanna hear another one?”

Harry doesn’t even look up from his bowl when he answers, “Another what?”

“Song, of course,”

He looks up at her, then stares.

“There’s more than one?”

“You’re telling me that you broke up with me because of my antique shopping habit and you didn’t even expect me to write about three eighteenth-century clocks I bought to get over you? That I broke up with you because you’re uncircumcised and wouldn’t write a song about your oppressive foreskin? That you left me all alone on a boat and I didn’t write about how the waves rocking me, alone, felt like my world tumbling around me?”

“Are those all rumors?”

“You know they are,”

He grins, “Yes, Taylor, I want to hear the song,”

She runs off to the living room to grab her phone, and comes back skipping like she hasn’t just woken up.

“Don’t you ever get afraid that someone’ll hear your music?” Harry asks, his cereal now seeming uninteresting.

“No, we soundproofed this place years ago, and I have a ton of security so it’s not like anyone can get close enough to hear it anyways,”

“Paranoid,”

“Smart,”

She plugs her phone into speakers on the counter and takes a seat on a barstool set up there. With a straight face she looks Harry in the eye, takes a deep breath, and starts.

“This one’s sad,” she admits, “But also, in a way, happy?”

“Did you bring any tissues, then?”

“I think as long as we’re not accompanying it with a montage of families reuniting with their military parents we’ll be alright,”

“Do you know this from experience?”

She shrugs, takes a sip of her tea, then reaches over to press play.

This is a good song. Taylor thinks all her songs are good, but she really likes this one. It was the first one she wrote and finished for the record, and it’s the one that reminds her most of her old albums. For that reason she considered leaving it off, but she’s happy she didn’t.

Harry doesn’t look at her as the song plays. She knows it’s a hard one, about feelings that Taylor never described. She supposes Harry could’ve picked up on them. Then again, he could have not.

When the song finishes, she reaches over quickly and pauses it. It doesn’t need to replay.

“What do you think?” she says, wringing her hands.

“That was brilliant,” he murmurs, then elaborates, “That was like… shit. I can’t even imagine being able to write that well, to get across my ideas and thoughts that well. You’re truly like no other, you know that?”

“Thanks for the flattery; what do you think?”

“I mean… I get it’s about me, I’m written all over this song, but it’s about you, yeah?”

She nods.

“So… it’s not really my place to tell you how I feel,”

She leans back and sighs.

“It’s just… new territory. I guess, I don’t want you to be surprised when the new record comes out and you’re all ‘Hey, apparently she felt this way and never told me. And three million people got to hear about it before me,’”

“Three million? That’s a little generous, don’t you think,”

“Stop!” she whines, pretending to push him even though he’s too far away.

“Nah, not too generous for you. Probably will outsell every artist in the world,”

“I’m just aiming for a million opening week,”

“Yeah, you’ll get that no problem,”

She smiles wide, “Ah! I’m glad you’re this optimistic. More than my team, at least,”

“And the song… you’re right, it’s sad in all the right spots. But, I think it really hit well at us coming back together and how it felt. Like, after all those months joining up and realizing we fell together like no time had passed at all. I really like it, and I’m glad there was no adjoining video because I really would have blubbered like a baby,”

“Thanks for listening,” Taylor says with a smile, because having this kind of affirmation and closure settles right in her chest.

“Anytime. I’m happy to listen to them, but for now I need to go,”

“Oh! Do you?” she jumps up from her seat, because somehow she hadn’t thought of him leaving. Which was dumb, but she does that sometimes—gets lost in her mind and mixes the past with the present.

Harry rises, too, and goes to grab his shoes, “Yeah, I have some things I need to do tonight. This was good, though. We need to do this more often,”

“By ‘this’ do you mean listening to songs or hanging out?”

“Hanging out, but if you’ve got more songs I’d be happy to listen to them,”

“I’m sure I could pull something out of my sleeves. Drive safe, Harry,”

He smiles and leaves with a drawn-out wave. Taylor stretches her arms out in front of her on the cool countertop, sliding down slowly until her forehead thumps against the marble.


	3. and we run

It’s not in the plans, but they somehow end up back together again before Harry jets off to the UK and Taylor jets off to New York. Harry’s the drunk one this time, calling up Taylor at half past ten to tell her that she should come over and bring a pretty song. She would yell at him, really wants to, but she’s got a song in mind. And for some reason it’s been bugging her that he hasn’t heard it yet.

Her driver gets her over and she brings a bag. It’s not like—it’s not like she’s expecting _anything_ really, but it’s already late and if it ends up like last time she doesn’t want to sleep on the floor with no pajamas or toothpaste.

The house Harry’s staying at is nice, and close—like he said. She could easily walk, but all she needs is to end up in the tabloids caught sneaking through neighbors’ yards as she makes her way to Harry Styles’ Love Pad. But she swears she sees Rhett roll his eyes from the driver’s seat. He probably thought a security job would’ve entitled more bulletproof vests, less driving her around perfectly-safe neighborhoods.

Harry welcomes her in with a dramatic bow. He is drunk, just a bit, and wearing a headscarf tied around his head with a shirt that looks too big. His fashion’s always been funny; then again, Taylor used to go around writing a giant 13 on her hand. She doesn’t really have room to judge.

“Is Jake home?”

“Jeff,”

“Yeah,”

“No, he’s not. Neither’s his girlfriend,”

Taylor smiles, “Did you kick him out?”

Harry smiles wide, that one where he looks guilty and angelic at the same time.

“Not really. Just told ‘em to go on a date, recommended Geni’s by that pool hall,”

“Ah, that’s a good one,”

“Anyways, come on in. Want a glass of something? I have wine, more wine,”

“No, I’m good,” she declines, reaching into her purse to grab onto her phone, “You, uh, have speakers?”

“I thought we could just play it out the iPhone? You know, Jeff’s in the industry but the only speakers he’s got are those ones you can get in the checkout line for $8,”

 “Fine, just lead me in,”

He takes her up to his bedroom, on the second floor at the back of the house. It overlooks the valley and is all plush, all organized, all Harry.

“So you say you don’t _actually_ live here?” Taylor asks, putting her purse on the chair and having a look around, “Because, by the looks of it, Jeff’s adopted you,”

He flops onto his bed and buries his face into his arms.

“I just bought a place, actually,”

Taylor stills, “Oh?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty sick. In Beverly Hills, too many bedrooms, too big a pool. Nothing like what I got in London,”

“Are you going to be here a lot, then?” Taylor asks. She tires of standing and sits down next to Harry on the bed. The mattress is bouncy and she doesn’t understand.

“Probably. I mean, I’ve got everywhere else in the world to be. But I love LA, you know? It’s so warm, sunny, love all the people here. Why would I ever leave?”

“You don’t feel suffocated here?” she asks suddenly.

“How?”

“Like… New York’s got all these valleys of tall buildings and is filled to the brim with people. Your senses are affronted everywhere you go: pungent smells, constant racket, blinding lights. But I feel freer there, you know? Here, I feel like I’m being watched all the time. When I want to escape? That’s what I have New York for,”

Harry leans up on his elbows and smiles, “So I guess that move’s working out for you?”

“It’s just dandy,” she huffs, “Are we going to listen to this song or not?”

“Yeah, right, this song about me,”

“It’s not _about_ you, just _concerns_ you. Where are your speakers?”

Harry waves Taylor off with his hand, “Don’t need ‘em. Told you; that’s what your iPhone’s for,”

“Harry, I’m not playing this song off my phone,”

“But the good speakers are downstairs!” he whines.

“Then why don’t we go _downstairs_?”

“I’m tired,”

He pouts. She scowls.

“Fine,” he relents, “just plug it into my alarm clock,”

Taylor would protest, but she knows how Harry gets when he’s tired. All mopey and lazy—a permanent frown creased across his face. It’s much faster, easier if she just gives in early.

She gets on her knees to lean over Harry and plug her phone in, but she can’t keep her mind from wondering what it’d be like in another universe. Where Harry would touch her stomach that’s uncovered as her sweatshirt rides up, stroking the soft skin there. Where Taylor would lean down and kiss over his face, over his eyes and his nose and his cheeks, before hovering an inch from his lips, but never fully committing to a kiss. Where they’d cuddle up in his bed, hidden beneath the covers in warmth and comfort.

But she’s in this universe, where she presses play, sits back in her spot, watches Harry close his eyes as the music starts, keeps her hands to herself.

Harry nods his head back and forth to the beginning notes, a slight smile on his face. But as the song really kicks in with a heavy beat and the darkest lyrics she could imagine, his eyes grow wide and he turns to look at Taylor with a smirk on his face.

His hands fly up before the song’s even over. She’s still going through her final “ah’s” when he starts yelling.

“Holy shit, Taylor!”

She grins, “Sounds like it’s your favorite?”

Harry sits up on the bed and turns to face Taylor.

“It’s like… I’ve always wanted to write a song about how it felt to be in such a scrutinized relationship. How it feels to have people who have never met you, don’t know you at all, try and make decisions about how you should or shouldn’t love. But it’s always come out whiny or unsupportive or just…”

“Thanks. I was working with Ryan a lot to-”

“Ryan who?”

“Tedder,”

“Shit! Fucking love that guy. I’m trying to get him to help me out with our next album. He’s fucking sick, but like, so are you. I don’t know anyone who can get across emotion the way that you can,”

“I mean, you were there, so it’s a lot easier for you to understand how-”

He bats at her knee, “No, stop! Don’t pull yourself down. That’s one of the more honest songs I’ve heard in pop recently,”

She smiles, because she can’t stop herself and because getting positive feedback has always made her giddy and because Harry’s feedback is more important than anyone else’s at the time being.

“And you think it was honest? It was a good representation?”

“It’s like…” he leans back and rests against his headboard, “it brought me back to Central Park. How afterwards when we got alone for the first time in what seemed like years in my hotel room, we were both just so shaken up. And we had planned that day meticulously as almost our entrance into the world of public dating. We knew what we were doing, we tried to prepare ourselves and it just didn’t work,”

She tilts her head. “It reminded you of that?”

It’s definitely not the lightest song in the world, but she thought it was a little more positive than the anxiety-inducing trip to the zoo with a toddler in tow had been.

“Not exactly. More like the after, when we laid together for hours and we had calmed down and I just couldn’t imagine not doing it with you. I couldn’t imagine stopping or having pulled the plug before it started. It was all at the same time claustrophobic and freeing, but I loved it,”

“You sure know how to pull the ladies in,”

He stretches out his leg and taps her with his foot, “Got myself Miss Popstar of the World, didn’t I?”

Her traitorous face flushes red, “ _No_ , you got little, sweet Taylor,”

“And they’re separate?”

 “Sometimes,”

They sit in silence for a few moments before Harry sits up in a hurry and cradles his chin in his hands.

“So, Tay, what’s the next song?”

Her eyebrows furrow, “What song?”

“Let’s hear another one, yeah? My bed’s all cozy, the night is young, I’m in the mood for a nice run down memory lane,”

He whisper-screams _and we run_ as she laughs.

“That’s it, I’m afraid,”

Harry stills, “That’s it? I thought your entire album was about me?”

“One, it’s _not_. I have said this! Two, I don’t mean that’s all for the album, just for tonight,”

He pouts, “Why?”

“Because I’m not going to sit here all night and give you a rundown of my entire album!”

“Why not? I could crack open a bottle of wine, reheat some spinach dip Jeff’s girlfriend made last night. I think there are some crackers left in the cupboard. It could be a legit party!”

Taylor glances over to her bag on the floor and thinks of her cute paisley pajamas stuck away in there, next to her toothbrush and toothbrush and contact lens solution. How stupid, naïve she had been to think she’d need them.

“No, I actually have to get going,”

She stands from the bed and toes her sperrys on. Harry’s looking at her like she’s got two heads or just ruined his evening.

“I’ve got a plane to catch tomorrow and I’m not even half-packed,” she continues with a few lies. Her bags are packed and her flight’s not until the afternoon. She could afford to stay and show Harry the entire album, start to finish, then the bonus tracks, then the demos that never made it past the studio, then the songs that sound more like diary entries than anything she’d ever allow.

But that scares her more than she wants to admit, to anyone but especially Harry. She had thought, before the party that Harry _of course_ just had to show up at, that she was over him. She had thought that she was free of any feelings and any baggage that left itself in her mind and home after that short-lived relationship. She felt clean.

Now she’s dreaming of lying in bed with him and telling him all of her secrets, something she’s never done before. It’s dumb; it’s so fucking dumb.

“I’ll show you out, then,” Harry finally says. He stands from the bed and picks up her bag for her, probably notices the layer of clothes on top, but doesn’t say anything.

He walks her out the door to where Rhett’s sat waiting in the car, speeding over in impressive time after he got her text.

Harry sighs, “So you’re leaving tomorrow?”

Taylor bites her lip and nods.

“Shame, was hoping to milk a few more songs out of you,”

Taylor tightens her grip on her bag strap, “It’s not the end… just call and we’ll arrange something. Next time I’m in London or you’re in NYC or we’re both in LA. We may attract a lot of attention, but, you know, I’ve got a few places hidden,”

She turns to leave, but at the last second turns back to face Harry. She brushes two fingers quickly over the side of her nose and it makes Harry laugh, finally.

“You’re ridiculous,” he says through giggles.

“Call me!” she says finally, before running out and loading herself in with Rhett.


	4. calling me up

It’s like the longer Taylor keeps away from Harry, the stronger itch she gets to show him another song. They’re burning a hole in her phone and she worries that the longer it takes to show them to Harry, the more he’ll dislike them. Like if he actually has time to sit down and think about his songs, he’ll rescind his blessing. Not that she’d take the songs off her album, surely, but it’d mean something to her.

It’s good, too, that the songs are actually starting to come together. The first few she’d shown him were rough but promising starts to the products they’ve become today. She and her team of producers are still working out bugs and kinks, and they will continue to be up until only a short while before she sends out the CDs, but what Harry hears now will be pretty close to the end result.

The problem is that they’re always miles and miles away. Harry’s just started touring and Taylor’s gonna be in the US for a few months now. She keeps thinking about taking a vacation to the Caribbean, going so far as looking at private hotels or houses she can rent from friends, with private beaches and quiet staff. Deep down she knows it’ll go nowhere, but she’ll keep on looking just in case.

They decide to Skype, which Taylor doesn’t do often anymore. It’s been a long day but she spent it all looking forward to reconnecting with Harry. She even already knows which song she’ll show him, can’t wait.

“Heeeeeyyyyy,” she hears Harry say when she calls him. The screen lags in catching up and is only a blur of gray and black. Finally, the screen clears and she has to choke back a laugh.

“Harry, what in the world is on your head?”

He reaches up and brushes over the headband currently doing a horrible job of keeping his hair out of his face.

“What?” he says with a pout, “You don’t like it?”

“It’s… interesting,” she says, because it’s actually quite ridiculous. It makes his head looks twice its normal size, and she has to hold herself back from laughing again.

“Well, what’s on _your_ head?”

She narrows her eyes, “Hair!”

He grins, “I know, it looks nice,”

This time she doesn’t even try to hold back her laughter, just leans back and giggles like she used to do when he’d tell her one of his more horrible jokes.

“You never change, do you?”

“Try not to, not too much,”

“Anyways,” she recomposes herself, “where is One Direction today?”

“Um, we just got in. It’s that one country with the… like, there’re palm trees and it’s by the sea. You know?”

“No, Harry, that’s many countries,”

“It’s… in Latin America and it’s got a funny name?”

“Harry…”

“Uruguay! That’s it, Uruguay!”

“Jesus, you’re incredible,”

He blushes and waves her off, “Thanks!”

“You have a show tonight?”

“Yeah, in a few hours. I’m just in the dressing room before someone invariably comes to gather me up and rush me somewhere so we have to make this quick. Have you sent the song yet?”

Taylor narrows her eyes and opens her mouth, “I’m not sending it to you!”

“What? Why?”

“Harry!” she sighs, “That’s how leaks get out!”

“What, Taylor, am I gonna send it to the Daily Mail? Go out on the street and ask the first person I see if they want a copy? Burn a few CDs of it and then leave them around fucking Uruguay?”

“I’m not stupid!” she yells, though Harry can hear just fine, “I know you wouldn’t fuck me over, but I also know that everything that gets sent out over the internet can be found and leaked. None of the songs have left either the studio or my phone!”

“I just…” he pushes his sweater sleeves up his arms and scratches his fingers lightly over his skin there, “This was also supposed to be about trust and faith, yeah? Like, you’re trusting me with these songs and letting me hear them beforehand, trusting me with their backgrounds and with my opinions. Why don’t you trust me with this?”

“It’s not you I don’t trust, it’s-” she waves her hands erratically in front of the screen, “The computer! The internet! People who could gain a lot from hacking the cloud, whatever the hell that is,”

“Fine!” he relents, eventually. But he still looks kinda pissed, which isn’t boding well for the song she has today.

“Just put on your headphones…” Harry listens and puts his over his earbuds in with a childish scowl. Taylor follows his lead and puts hers in, too, just so he doesn’t feel weird about it. “Okay, do you want the song or the backstory first?”

“Depends, how much of an ass does the backstory make me out to be?”

Taylor grins, “Kinda halfsies,”

“Lay it on me,”

“After the island fiasco-”

“Ah!”

“Yeah, well, I went home and I had this… dream and in it you came back to me, and you showed up at my door wearing the same thing you were wearing when I left. And, I don’t even remember what you were saying, I don’t know if it was actually even words, but every time I opened my mouth to say something back, all that came out was ‘Stay!’ in a really high-pitched, operatic voice. It was weird,”

“And?”

She smiles, “It was catchy as hell and needed to be put in a song. Called up Max and he came over right away, and we left later on in the day with the bare bones for this,”

She presses play on her phone and holds it up to the mic, dancing along. This one was easy to write, in a lot of ways, because the emotions she had tried to channel into the song were so fresh in her mind. There was a lot of confusion, annoyance, but especially anger. Not anger in the way some of her past songs had been—just plain ol’ we broke up and I’m mad at you about it.

Harry must get it immediately, because although he started the song rocking back and forth to the tune, halfway through he’s still as a rock. Taylor keeps up with her dancing; if she doesn’t, it’d be awkward as hell.

“So…” he starts the second the song finishes, “After the island?”

She grimaces, “Yeah… is it that easy to tell?”

“Let’s just say… yes,”

She bites her lip, “And are you mad?”

“I dunno,” Harry shrugs, “It’s not, like… mad. It just kinda feels weird. Because this is the first song that I think people would listen to and feel not positively of me,”

“Well, to be fair-”

“Yes, I know, that was not the highlight of our relationship. And I’m not blaming you for it or saying that I’m uncomfortable with the song being on the record. I don’t really know what I’m saying, to be honest!”

Taylor allows him a bit of silence so that he can try to compose his thoughts, but she has things she needs to say, too.

“I don’t think it paints you negatively,” she starts, “but I think it paints you fairly,”

“How so?”

“Come on,” she sighs, “Around that time you were so back-and-forth with me. You didn’t want to split up but you didn’t want to put effort into the relationship,”

“I feel like—”

“I was a sure thing,” she cuts him off, “I was so fucking head-over-heels, totally into you, and you always had to just complicate things or mess with my head. It sucked and I didn’t want to feel like a burden to you anymore,”

Harry’s face turns suddenly serious, “You were never a burden,”

“I know,” she rests her head in her hand and rubs over her face sleepily. It’s late, she’s exhausted, sometimes baring your secrets can drain you.

“But I’m sorry, still, for making you feel that way. And I mean, it might sound a little late—”

“I _know_ you’re sorry, Harry, and I haven’t held it against you. I dropped that grudge a while ago,”

“And the song?”

Taylor smiles, “It was just too good to pass up?”

Harry’s about to say something, a witty quip caught on the tip of his tongue, but he’s interrupted by a door opening behind the laptop and someone coming in to tell him something. The sound’s muffled and the person’s not speaking clearly so Taylor doesn’t know what’s going on, but she guesses their time together is up. She pulls her knees up to her chest and puffs out a breath of air that has her bangs blowing off her face.

“I have to go,” he says with a slight grimace once the door’s shut.

“And _just_ when we were getting to the good part,”

“It’s a good song; I approve,”

“And the real feelings?”

“Hurts a little, off somewhere in my body, but the emotions are real and they come across so raw that I can’t even be bothered to feel bad for myself. It’ll sound perfect with the rest of the record, promise,”

“Have a great show, Harry,” she says with a little smile.

“Thanks, and don’t hesitate to show me another song whenever you feel like it. Sometimes these are what I look forward to all day,”

That makes sirens whirl in Taylor’s head. It makes her stomach tighten, her toes curl, her heart beat a little faster. She’s not used to being the highlight of someone’s day, anymore.

“Go out there and knock the socks off of—” she raises her eyebrows and waits for Harry to fill in the blank. She knows the name, and Harry knows she knows the name, and that’s what makes it worse.

“It’s um,” he taps his finger on his chest and crinkles his nose, as if that’ll help, “Jesus Christ, how did I forget this after ten minutes?”

“Uruguay! With the palm trees and the sea,”

“Right, Uruguay, of course. How could I forget it!”

Harry logs off with a cute wink and Taylor slowly exits out of Skype and closes her laptop. She lays back on her bed and kicks out her feet in front of her. Slowly she feels the skin on her stomach from where her blouse has ridden up, and wonders, idly, about Caribbean vacations.


	5. took a wrong turn

For some reason, though Harry’s not the type of person to react this way, Taylor imagines in her head that he wouldn’t want to hear any more songs. It’s probably unrealistic, and Taylor’s probably turning into her mother in some sick twist of paranoia, but they don’t do much but text little messages to each other every once in a while. Little messages that don’t mean anything, like a photo of a cat in a knit scarf or a knock-knock joke found on the back of a popsicle. The type of casual fun they used to have sits warm and fond in Taylor’s mind, but keeps nagging at her that something’s wrong.

For a month Harry doesn’t bring up any mention of any song, of Taylor’s album, of them in the past. And she just assumes that maybe Harry’s throwing up his white flag. After all, the last session had gone a bit awry. Not totally horrible, but off course from where she wanted it to go. This has all been about Harry and his comfort level and cluing him into the album. If he wants out, then it’s his call to make.

Of course, then he texts.

_Are we still doing the song thing?_

Taylor doesn’t see her phone until hours after he’s texted because she gets stuck in a marathon of meetings with all sorts of business people who try and talk her out of so many ideas she has for her album. They drain her in positively every way, but she lights up when she sees the message.

_Don’t know why not?_

She thinks through the time difference between New York and London and doesn’t hold her breath for Harry to respond at three in the morning, but she should know better.

_Great! Gonna be in Nashville next week. I’m feeling a bit antsy to get another listen. You down for a Thursday visit?_

Taylor’s busy; she knows this. Taylor’s got an agenda full of everything anyone could write down: album cover photo shoot, dentist appointment, brunch with Karlie. They’re written all down in different colors for each category (red for meetings because they’re important, black for doctors and dentists because she hates them to death, purple for Karlie because it’s her favorite color) and she knows that it’s no simple task for her to be spontaneous.

_By some miracle you’ve caught me at an off day._

_Thursday around lunch sound good? I’m in town to visit some friends, but I can sneak away for a second._

Taylor smiles and texts him the address.

**

She cooks a vegetarian shepherd’s pie out of restlessness. It’s not very often that she’s in Nashville, and now that she has plans to leave the country music scene behind she reckons she’ll be in town even less, but the place does have some kick-ass markets that improve her cooking skills by tenfold. She texts Harry to come hungry and hopes that he listens. Sometimes he forgets to do that.

Nerves start to kick in when she pulls the pie out, because Harry’s five minutes late and she’s bad at calming herself down. There are always a lot of things to worry about with Harry: his mood swings, the attention he attracts, how he makes absolutely everyone fall in love with him. And Taylor remembers worrying about them all—constantly.

Her phone rings on the table, and when she goes over to see who she sighs and rolls her eyes.

“You’re late,”

“I’m locked out!” Harry screeches.

“How in the world are you locked out?”

“The door—the side one, the one you told me to enter through—is locked!”

“You have to buzz in!”

“What the hell is a buzz, Christ,”

Taylor runs over to the intercom and presses the button. She hears the _buzz_ and the door unlock. Harry gets the hint and opens it.

“Christ, are you magic?”

“Have you never been to an apartment complex?”

“Not sober, I don’t think. What floor are you again?”

“Harry!” she whines.

“I know, I know. You told me. I forgot. Please?”

“Top,”

“Thanks,” Taylor can hear his smile through the phone.

She hangs up on him so she can set the table, and by the time she’s putting the last fork down there’s a knock at the door.

“Come in!” she yells.

Harry lets himself in and Taylor can hear him take off his shoes by the door. He walks in with a ridiculous hat on his head and a vase of flowers in his hand.

“What in the world is that hat?”

He pouts, “Why are you so against everything I wear!”

“Not everything, the shirt’s nice,” he smiles at the compliment, “It could use a few more buttons done-up, but I’m not going to bother you,”

“You’re impossible,” he says, as he takes off his hat and places it on the counter. Taylor arranges the vase on the table and swears she can even see him, in her periphery, buttoning his shirt one more button.

“These are beautiful,” she remarks as she takes a sniff of the flowers—peonies.

“Thanks. Saw a market on the way over and grabbed them,”

“Did anyone see you?” she sees quickly, and grimaces as she remembers all the time’s she’s said that in the past.

“I don’t know, no one said anything if they did. And I stopped off somewhere else before I came, so I don’t think anyone knows,”

She nods; that’s good.

“By the way, do you live in a fairytale book?”

The apartment is a bit ridiculous, she’ll admit. But that’s what you get when a teenager sells millions of albums and gets free range over a penthouse in her favorite city. She went a bit nuts, but she still wouldn’t change it, not even now.

“I prefer to call it _whimsical_ , maybe _enchanting_ ,”

“You have a human-sized bird cage!”

She shrugs, “Doesn’t everyone?”

“Can I take my picture in it?”

“Why in the world—”

“I’ve got the tattoo, right here,” he drags his thumb over his rib cage, “So it’s like, a bird cage inside of a bird cage. Kinda poetic, yeah? It’d look kinda sick on Instagram…”

“Yeah, of course. That’s exactly what we need! Everyone knowing you’re at my place!”

“How would they know?”

“Yeah, I mean, how people—people that _you_ know—have bird cages at their places. Could be anyone!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think—”

And that’s always been the problem, hasn’t it? Harry didn’t think that kissing girls goodbye was bad. Harry didn’t think that the media could turn on a couple so fast. Harry didn’t think that anyone could possibly care what two pop stars do in their hotel together. Harry didn’t think about a lot of things that Taylor always thought about.

“I mean,” he continues, after Taylor’s quiet with a bit of a scowl on her face, “Everyone has them, right?”

He smiles, and Taylor breaks down. Because that’s always been her problem.

“Of course, but why don’t we limit the photography for today,”

“Seems reasonable. Now, anyways, I seem to remember you telling me to come hungry. And I actually listened and I think if we were to listen to any songs right now, your voice would be drowned out by my stomach growling,”

“Right!” she jumps to action, “Just, take a seat at the table. I’ll be right out,”

Plating the food gives her something to focus on. Because she watches a lot of Food Network and knows that presentation is half the battle. Not that Harry’d say anything (she could probably toss her food in a used garbage can and Harry’d still pat his tummy as he ate it), but it’s important for her that what she gives is her best. It’s what she always promises, and she’s not backing down now.

**

The lunch is, of course, a hit. Harry starts singing its praises the moment the first forkful enters his mouth. He claims it’s the best shepherd’s pie he’s ever eaten, the best vegetarian dish he’s ever eaten, the best meal he’s ever eaten, etc. Taylor just smiles and thanks him and takes another bite.

He finishes before her, and she takes her time. Harry rushed through his meal, giving off compliments between shovels of food, just so he could get to the song quicker. Taylor knows, and she relishes in it.

“Aren’t you done yet?” he whines as he pushes around the last bit of mashed potatoes on his dish. 

“Why? Are you waiting for something?” Taylor says back with a smirk spread wide over her face.

“You’re impossible!”

“I’m savoring the world’s best shepherd’s pie,”

Harry lets his head fall against the table with a big huff. Taylor grabs her phone out of her pocket and scrolls through her music.

 “This one’s a bonus song,”

Harry sits up quickly, “You mean I’ve been sidelined to the second CD?”

“You don’t think you have enough songs about you on the record yet?”

He shakes his head with that stupid grin on his face. Taylor laughs to herself – _Cheshire Cat._

“I won’t be satisfied until I’ve got a whole record about me. One song after another singing my praises, about my God-like body. I want to be your muse,”

“You’re halfway there, buddy, but I promise you—the bonus songs on this album are sick,”

He raises his eyebrows, “Are they?”

“Mmhmm. They’re of the same quality as the rest of the album, they just don’t fit the story,”

“The story? Is there a story?”

“Forget I said story, pretend I said _feel_ ,”

“Right. _Feel_ ,”

“Anyways, this is a really solid song. The production’s good, the lyrics are solid, everything’s fine. Pretend I didn’t say anything, just go into it,”

“Don’t you have to plug it in?”

“No, I have bluetooth,”

“What the bloody hell is that—”

“Will you just listen to the song!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Press play, please!”

Taylor listens and lets the sound of a new song fill her apartment. She supposes it’s a great fit—a song called _Wonderland_ played in her apartment that looks like it’d fit in down any rabbit hole. She remembers what he said last time, that it’s better when she mouths along to the words. So she does it this time, and adds in some of her cheesier, more dramatic dance moves. Because they’re fun and she can.

Harry watches her as the song goes on. He cracks a smile at some facial expressions and even sways a bit, but like always she can’t guess what he’s thinking. He’s like that a lot—an enigma of some sorts. Always a little bit away from having Taylor understand him, really. It can get annoying at times. When the song ends, she allows him a few moments of peace. But she’s antsy and she needs to know how he feels, for God’s sake, so she starts poking him in the bicep.

“So this is what you’re putting on the bonus disc?” he says finally as he pushes away Taylor’s finger, “I mean, if this is what’s not good enough for the main album-”

“I _told_ you, Harry. It’s not that it’s not a good song, it just doesn’t _fit_ ,”

“Well, fucking still. That’s amazing and the only people who are ever going to hear it have to buy the deluxe version, and that’s a fucking shame. I’m going to start a movement to make sure everyone buys the deluxe,”

“Thank you, so much, for blowing up my ego,” he tips his head, as if to say _you’re welcome_ , “Anyways, did I get it right? Did I get the feeling right?”

“It’s like… you have such a way with jumping between emotions just seamlessly and tirelessly. Like, that earlier song? Um, the one about hiding or whatever?”

“I Know Places,”

“Yeah. That one jumped so quickly between anger and love. Like, it’s one of the best love songs I’ve ever heard hidden behind bitterness, and I loved that about it. Or even the _Trouble_ song, it switched so fantastically between regret and blame. Now this? It never stopped switching. It was like whiplash between reminiscing and panic,”

“I like that. I’ve never even thought of it that way,”

“And I think it’s so strange because you keep on bringing up how the media treated us and how the public eye caused so much strain, and that’s something that most people, like 99.9% of the world, cannot relate to. But you make the emotions feel so singular and universal at the same time. Anyone can listen to this and relate, but I feel us in it, too, you know?”

“I’m happy. Because, I know this sounds weird, but at times I worry that I get too vague and that I leave out personal details in favor of letting it be more widely-understood. And I do want everyone to be able to fit my songs to their lives, but I also want you to hear the songs and how you and me and us in them. I want you to hear _I felt your arms twisting around me_ and remember us, in Times Square, fit into this broad expanse of people who didn’t all want us to be together. And how you held me close and I fit into your neck and it felt okay that way,”

“I get that, I really do. All the songs you’ve shown me have brought up so many memories and it’s been really nice to hear them, in a way. Just because it’s not like we have that many pictures together, and you gave me back that necklace and I gave you back that pillow. So we threw each other out of our lives, but if we ever wanted to relive that then we couldn’t? Which in some ways is good, I guess, because you have to live in the present and blah blah blah. But sometimes you just want to remember, and I couldn’t. I couldn’t remember what you wore to meet my parents or what song we danced to in that hotel room. And that sucks,”

“I wrote it down,” she says, with a smile, because at times her journaling has felt petty and odd, but times like now are when she realizes that it’s for the better, “I wrote it all down. Sometimes to remember, but a lot of times just to understand,”

Harry nods, “It was a lot to get through,”

“I’m glad you like the song, though, pretty much like every other song,”

“Of course, but, I just have one question,”

“Yeah?”

“Why in the world are we losing an eye?”


	6. where you stood

“ _Harry_ ,” she whines, because he will never stop being ridiculous. She stands from the table and grabs their empty plates. She starts for the kitchen and Harry follows suit.

“What! That’s a valid question!”

“It’s _mind_ not _eye_. We’re losing our _mind_ , as in the media is making us feel crazy,”

“Holy shit, that makes so much more sense,”

She starts running the water in the sink and grabs her pans to let them soak.

“Well, yes, that’s why I wrote it that way,”

“Could’ve been a song about the dangers of glaucoma, you never know. Trying to reach a new target audience of the visually impaired,”

Taylor throws her head back and laughs hard.

“Ah, yes. That’s the one bracket I can’t break for some reason,”

Harry touches her shoulder, then, and it makes Taylor jump, just a bit.

“Here, let me help with the dishes,”

“No!” she says, maybe a bit too forcefully, “I mean, you’re a guest! So I should be cleaning up, and you should not, or something,”

“That’s a dumb rule. It should be that you made the food so I clean the dishes,”

“Just sit down, Harry. It’s a pan and two dishes. It should take me, like, five seconds,”

Harry begrudgingly hops up on the counter behind her and she can hear his heels kicking the cabinets below. She’s about to yell at him when Harry speaks up.

“So is _I Wish You Would_ about me?”

Taylor turns around so fast she swears she gets whiplash.

“Get off my phone!” she yells, snatching it out of Harry’s hands.

“What? You left it open, that’s not my fault! And it’s not like it would’ve been hard to guess the number anyways. What is it, 1313?”

She brings her phone up to her chest and gasps in mock-offense, “Of course not!”

“Anymore,” Harry adds, and Taylor bumps his leg with her hip for that one.

She stares down at her phone and at the song. There’s no reason he can’t listen to it now, he’s gonna have to listen to it at some point, and it’s a lot easier now that he’s sitting right in front of her and they don’t have to arrange travel or coordinate schedules.

“It’s about you,” she says, finally, “A little more about you than the other ones, I think,”

“Not just _concerning_ me?”

“No, it’s more of a story than a lot of the other songs. So, it’s about us, I guess. Wanna listen to it?”

Harry bites his lip and smiles, so Taylor hops up next to him on the counter and sets the phone down between them. She presses play without explaining the song first; she thinks it’s more fun that way.

This is an amusing song that sounds completely different from anything else she’s done. Jack was keen on the drums, and they’re fun to play along to. She slaps her thighs to the beat, even sending a tap or two to Harry’s, just to make sure he’s paying attention. He giggles every time she does, and doesn’t seem to mind her touches.

“I think I have an idea of what that song’s about,” he says once it’s over.

“I wrote it in March, if that fill in any holes,”

Harry shakes his head and laughs, “I don’t think I really needed any holes filled,”

“Are you mad?”

“What part of you thinks me smiling and laughing means I’m mad?”

“The irrational, worrisome part of me,”

“Well, tell it to shut up, ‘cause it’s got nothing to worry about,”

Harry reaches over and pats her hand. He’s got cold fingers and kind eyes and Taylor knows that she’s silly.

“Anyways, real feelings, yeah?” Taylor nods, “So, number one, it made me feel like shit for not stopping by your place,”

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, come on! I probably wouldn’t have even been home,”

“Coulda called, though,”

“That’s probably more on both of us,”

“Well, secondly. It’s a really a good look into your brain, because I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but you’re kinda a tough egg to crack,”

“Wait a minute!” she yells, gesturing a little too loosely with her arms and accidentally hitting him in the chest, “I’m literally sitting down with you, showing you songs that sound like pages out of my diary, and explaining them to you! How much more of an open book can I be?”

“Come on, Taylor! Yeah, you write these songs and let out everything, but before that? You clam up and turn away and it can be impossible at times to know what you’re thinking,”

“Like what!”

“Well, for starters, in March around the Oscars party. It was the first time we had talked in a while, but I had no idea you had the feelings you talked about in that song! You know, it was so nice to talk to you and be back in your home, but at times it felt like you were uncomfortable,”

“Well, I mean,” she shifts in her spot.

“There you go again!” Harry nearly yells, “You were always, and _are_ always, trying to explain something away or going rigid when I so much as accidentally brush past you. And it doesn’t have to be that way! I don’t have any ulterior motives, I’m not here to annoy you, I just want to be your fucking friend,”

“I guess… that sounds alright?”

“ _Guess_?” he screeches.

“Oh, shut up. You know what I mean! I’ll try to relax around you, okay?”

“And is there anything else you _wish_ I would do?”

Taylor knocks her knee with Harry’s, “Help with the dishes,”

Harry bites his lip and reaches over to brush two fingers gently over the side of Taylor’s nose. She laughs and bats them away.

“Fucking knew it, princess,”


	7. burning it down

The skype session is unintentional. Harry’s left all alone in LA with his housemate (James? Joel?) gone for business, and a lonely Harry usually means a bored Harry and a restless Harry. He texts Taylor twenty times while she’s in the shower, and it takes ten minutes for her to get ready and log on. Harry’s almost giddy with excitement as his face comes onto screen, and he’s even wearing normal clothes.

“So, what’s so important that I needed to not dry my hair?”

“I haven’t got anything to do,”

Taylor pauses and just stares at Harry, with his ridiculous grin and wild hair, “Right, then, so I’m gonna go,”

“Noooo, I’m bored,”

“And why should I be the one to help with that?”

Harry shrugs, “Because you love me?”

“Maybe in your wildest dreams,” she says, catching herself almost instantly. It makes her lean back and try to push her laugh out of frame.

“Is that a song, then?”

She stops quickly, “What did you say?”

“Is _wildest dreams_ a reference to a song? Because you laughed,”

“I… how in the world does laughing mean it’s a song?”

“You have this laugh, I can’t explain it. It’s like an inside joke with yourself, and like you think you’re really witty. You did it the other day when you said you were _never ever ever ever_ going to drink tequila again,”

“Yeah,” she says, finally, “It’s a song,”

“And is it about me?”

“It’s not really about you, not totally,”

“Oh?” Harry adds, looking more interested now. She wonders if that was why he called, so that he could entertain himself with a new song.

“It is, kinda. But not in the way that others are, you know? It’s more, like, about me, and you’re kinda a catalyst,”

“You don’t have to show it to me,”

“I want to,” she realizes. She had been going back and forth on whether or not he should hear the song, because the other person involved is intentionally left vague and it’s more about her own paradigm shift. She has to admit, to at least herself, that there was one person in mind as she wrote it out.

“Then let’s hear it!”

“I’m not gonna give you background,” she explains as she looks around for her phone, “I don’t think you like it when I do that, and there’s not really much to tell you. It’s all about what’s going on up here,” she points to her brain, “and it’s all explained in the song, I think,”

“Ah, an exclusive look into whatever the hell you’ve got going in there?”

She sticks her tongue out at him and plays the song. Harry must have already realized that it’s not going to be like the upbeat songs she already showed him, and he just leans with a blank expression on his face and focuses on the music. There’s not very many dance moves she can do to this song without feeling out of place, and it seems wrong to mouth along, so she merely leans back in her chair and sways. She listens for any parts that need fixed or could be enhanced, but these songs are far enough along now that she knows she won’t find any.

“Before I start,” Harry says as soon as the song finishes, “I just want to lead with saying it’s a great song. Absolutely heart-wrenching,”

“Yeah, it’s probably the saddest song on the album. I didn’t set out for it to be that way, but I don’t often have control over my songs. They grow on their own, my children,”

“Well, anyways, I feel like I need to apologize,”

Taylor cocks her hide to the left, “Why?”

“I mean, this whole song… I left you feeling this way. I never should have let you feel this way,”

“This isn’t about you, though, it’s about _me_ and my viewpoint on love changed,”

“Yes, I know, but you showed it to me, didn’t you? You thought it related to me somehow,”

“Because I didn’t want you to be in the dark about a song that basically says ‘I used to be a hopeless romantic, until I met you’. I thought it’d be fair to give you some warning, or something,”

“But it’s still my fault, even if the guy in the song could be just about anybody. You didn’t have to feel this way, Taylor. Whole ideas of romance don’t have to fall apart because of one relationship! I could have tried harder, I could have communicated better—”

“Could have, Harry!” Taylor finally yells, “Could have, could have, could have. Past tense with an indeterminate future. You could have done more, I could have worried less, the media could have butted out, your fans could have not sent me death threats. But who gives a shit, because we can’t change that now,”

“So the singer of all those songs about love, about boys who turned your whole around, about simple and easy and quick and kind. That singer just does a complete 180 and is totally fine with it?”

“I didn’t write about love,” she clarifies, “Not truly. I didn’t know what it was,”

“And you do now?”

“I don’t know! I’m twenty-four; I’m allowed to not know things! I’m allowed to fall head-over-heels in love with a guy, and then walk away later questioning how I felt. Each relationship I’ve ever been in had given me different takeaways,”

“And ours was that love’s destined to die?”

“For me? Yeah. Because I can’t walk out my door with a guy and avoid being photographed. I can’t follow a guy on Twitter without speculation that we’re fucking. I can’t hold hands with a guy and expect it to go peacefully. I’ve never been normal, but I’ve always been in control of the abnormal circumstances surrounding me. Now I’m not. I like to pretend I am, and I try to control my own life as much as possible, but part of life is giving up the reigns. And unfortunately, this is where I have to do that,”

That’s a good place to stop, she thinks. Because she’s getting really emotional and Harry only saw her cry once or twice and she’d like to make sure that number doesn’t rise. Even their last day as a couple, in the middle of their breakdown and breakup, Taylor was in control of her emotions. And she’s sure as _fuck_ not losing it now.

Harry shakes his head, “This is the saddest song you’ve ever written,”

Taylor shrugs, “Life’s funny like that,”

An awkward silence smashes into them like a heavy sheet of rain, and Taylor just breathes it in. She doesn’t like screaming at Harry, but sometimes he just doesn’t get it. He’s a smart boy, but he’s got an idealized view of the world. Sometimes he’s too kind for his own good, and Taylor always has to catch herself when his already small limits are broken. There’s probably a part of Harry that thought they were in love; it matches the part of Taylor that she’s still trying to get rid of.

“This was supposed to be fun for me,” Harry says, finally, “I mean, I guess I’m not bored, but I am a bit down,”

“I never promised they’d all be happy,”

“Should’ve known with you, though,” he adds with a cheeky smile, “You have a way of bursting exhausting emotion into everyday detail. It’s insane, but sometimes I can’t keep up,”

He does look tired, and Taylor thinks back to the time. It should be just after nine in the morning where he is, and she wonders if he’s up early or if he just never went to sleep at all. She wishes she could teleport over and run her fingers through his hair until he falls asleep with his head in her lap, just like he used to. That’d be a bit odd, though, wouldn’t it?

“We can watch a film,” Taylor says with her lips pursed, “You know, like we used to do. We both start it at the same time and watch it together—”

“—A thousand miles apart,” Harry finishes, “Yeah, that sounds good. What do you have in mind?”

“I dunno, what do you even watch anymore? Do you have the same taste, or have you moved on to art-house flicks that no one in the world beyond ten people has seen?”

“I’ll watch just about anything you put in front of me,”

“If I recommend _Love, Actually_ will you laugh?”

Harry waves her off, “Laugh? More like cry, because it’s perfect,”


	8. just trees

and staying a few days late, possibly even popping back in between shows. She’s also heard rumors and whispers about a girl—a cute, blonde model that Karlie’s never heard of—but that’s not really her place. It’ll be a little harder, generally, with both of them in the same place. Gossip rags and blogs kick into full gear whenever her and Harry are within the same metropolitan area, and with the added pressure of the paparazzi camped outside their door, getting together isn’t quite as easy as it used to be.

Still, they’re two smart people who have an album to listen to, so they make it work. Going to Taylor’s place is out of the question, though she’s dying to introduce Harry to Olivia and play a round of pool with him. Even with Rhett around to try his damnedest to keep Taylor safe and with a sense of privacy and security, her building’s just too watched. They settle on a friend’s apartment at midday, just after lunch so that Taylor doesn’t feel obliged to cook anything and Harry doesn’t have to come hungry.

 “This is a nice place,” Harry says as he walks in. She had met him in the hallway so that he wouldn’t get lost, again, “You sure it’s not yours? It looks exactly like something you’d decorate,”

“I’m sure it’s not mine and it looks nothing like my place,”

“Pity,” he crinkles his nose, “Would’ve loved to see yours. You sure there’s no way to sneak in?”

“Not unless you’d like to dress up as an old lady or something,”

“I’ve done it before; it got great reviews,”

“Oh hush,” she waves him off, moving towards the kitchen, “Do you need anything to drink?”

“No, but thanks,”

Taylor directs him towards the couch where he sits and takes his boots off. It’s a warm day out but he’s still in blowy, long-sleeved shirts and skinny jeans and Chelsea boots. He has a style and he sticks to it; Taylor kinda likes that about him.

“So if this place isn’t yours, whose is it?” he calls out to her in the kitchen, where she’s pouring herself a tall glass of lemonade.

“It’s Karlie’s,” she yells back, “She’s out with her boyfriend so we don’t have to worry about being disturbed,”

“Oh, is she not allowed to hear the album?”

Taylor makes a face, “Of course she is. She’s heard all the songs already,”

“ _All_ of them?” he scoffs, “Like, more than me?”

“All of them,” she repeats, “and then some. You think you’re the most special person in the world?”

“Something like that,”

“Oh, hush, I’d show you all the songs but I want you to have something to look forward to come release date,”

He pouts. “Can’t I just open all my presents on my Christmas Eve?”

“Not if Santa doesn’t give them to you, you can’t,” Taylor says with a sense of finality. She sits down and places a jar of sugar-free lemonade and a plate of Karlie’s Kookies on the coffee table. Harry doesn’t waste any time and grabs one, popping a piece in his mouth with a content little moan.

“You make these?” he asks, his mouth still full.

“No, they’re Karlie’s. She sells them and they’re healthy and wholesome and everything,”

“So, let me get this straight. She’s a top model, a great baker, and apparently the world’s best friend. Is there anything she can’t do?”

Taylor takes a sip of her lemonade. “She can’t snap her fingers, which is odd,”

“Ah, yes, burdened with the mute fingers,”

She laughs and it sends a little bit of her drink dripping down to her dress. Quickly she brushes it off and turns her attention back to the song.

“So, why I’ve called you here today,”

“Am I getting fired?”

“No, but, the song. In a lot of the other songs I’ve showed you I’ve said, like, you know. _This song isn’t really about you but maybe kinda_. Or something to that effect. Well, this song… it’s kinda about you 100%,”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, like, there’s really no guessing involved,”

“Well, let me hear it and I’ll tell if you’re right,”

Taylor nods and leans over to press play on her phone. Karlie’s got a sick sounds system but no soundproofing, and Taylor’s not gonna let her elderly neighbor (Mrs. Schwan, a wonderful woman who makes delicious macaroons) hear her album first. She’ll have to wait for October with everyone else.

The song starts and it takes Harry by surprise with its electronic drum beats and echoing sounds. Jack’s influence is all over this track, but that’s why she wanted to work with him in the first place. Harry seems to like it, though, as he sends her a wide grin. As the lyrics start he turns more serious and actually listens to the song, which is scary as shit because she truly didn’t hide a single thing.

It’s all out in the open, an almost play-by-play of some parts of their short time together. It’s romantic, it’s sad, it’s genius. It’s definitely one of Taylor’s favorites and will definitely create some real buzz. She doesn’t know if she likes that yet.

When it ends, after the screaming crazy bridge and all the emotions that she wrote down with Jack instead of talking about with Harry, she anxiously awaits for his response. And Harry waits to give it for a few panic-filled seconds, until finally he opens his big mouth.

“I like the line about screaming color; I think that’s a really good way to describe it,”

And, well, that catches Taylor off guard. She hadn’t really known what he’d say, but she would’ve guessed something different than that. “So you’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

Taylor shrugs. “It’s not exactly subtle,”

“Neither is a song called _Style_ but I didn’t seem to have a problem with that,”

“It included a lot of personal details of our relationship,”

“A relationship that you were a part of,”

“It mentioned you crying,”

“I’ve cried on live television _multiple times_. I think everyone knows I have working tear ducts by now,”

She rolls her eyes and sighs, “I just don’t get it, Harry, how do you not have anything to say about any of the songs? You like them so blindly,”

He narrows his eyes, “I’m sorry, do you want me to hate them? Are you trying to get this off the album and you’re looking for a reason to?”

“No, but I thought you’d just have more to say. Some of these are so personal and some of them are so heartbreaking and you barely mention it. You yell at me for being closed-off as if you don’t meticulously control how much of yourself the world gets to see—even me,”

“What do you want me to say? Imagine any other person in the world sitting here with you, listening to songs from the world’s number one artist, off their album that hasn’t even _come out yet_. It’s kinda a lot to take in at one time,”

She nods because it’s understandable. Even Karlie, her best friend who’s always treated her like an equal, seemed awed when Taylor plugged her iPhone into the jack of the car on their road trip through Big Sur and started to play _Welcome to New York_ , then _Blank Space,_ then the rest of the album. But she always assumed that Harry was used to this: her fame, her talent, the rules that her life came with. She always assumed he’d be a little more jaded to it all.

“And,” he continues after Taylor doesn’t add anything, “it’s amplified by the fact that these are songs about me, and about our time together. These are things I’ve either been waiting to hear or thought I’d never get to. You have to understand, Taylor, that I really like everything you put out. I think you’re genius, and this album’s no different. I’m not lying,”

“Okay,” she starts, and she makes a movement to say something more but the words get stuck in her throat. Words are supposed to be her thing.

“And, like, I said this a long time ago,” he keeps talking without anything to shut him up, “I really like the songs that help me remember, because it’s been years and I’ve got a shit memory sometimes so things can get blurry. But… dancing in that New York hotel room on New Year’s Eve while you were getting ready for that performance. Or you running your fingers through my hair while we waited for the doctors in that dreary hospital room in the middle-of-nowhere, Utah. Those came rushing back to me in perfect clarity after the song was over. They’re snapshots that bring the past back to life,”

“Like polaroids,” she supplies, distantly.

“Yeah: instant, you know?” he shakes his head and pushes a few stray hairs out of his eyes, “I don’t want to forget,”

Taylor smiles and brushes crumbs off the front of Harry’s shirt, “And now you won’t,”


	9. never told her why

“Was that really about me?” Harry says with a scowl and lo mein on his face.

“Well,” Taylor starts thinking up an explanation, “It was written with the intention of being about friends’ exes who come to me for advice in how to win them back, and I think I accidentally wrote you in there, too,”

“Accidentally?”

“I mean, come on, Harry!” she yells, just a little, and flails her arms around, just a little, “You had to… come back,”

Harry wrinkles his nose and wipes a soy sauce stain off his hand, “I don’t know, it still doesn’t seem that much about me,”

“I mean, compared to _Style_ it’s not, but compared to, like, _Shake It Off_ it is,”

“By the way,” he points a finger as if he’s got something really important to say, “Niall told me to tell you that Shake It Off is really good and that he set it as his alarm in the morning,”

Taylor throws her hand over her heart, “Aw, tell him thank you!”

“Also,” Harry continues, “he’s looking at being back in Ireland when you’re in Dublin, and he’d love to see the show again. With a few people in tow,”

“I’ll send him an email,”

“Also… he thinks he’s got an idea about who the _fella with the hella good hair_ is,”

“I’m sorry to say that blondes aren’t really my type,”

Harry leans his head back and laughs hard, until his chest is shaking and his curls bounce slightly off the tops of his shoulders.

“No! Someone I little more close to you, I think. Like a few centimeters away,”

Taylor pretends to measure the distance between them where they’re sat criss cross applesauce on Harry’s dining room floor.

“Hm, maybe in 2012. Now?”

She sends a skeptical look at Harry’s head. He rebuffs her immediately and pushes her away.

“I’ll have you know my mum loves my new hair,”

“Well, your _mum_ is one of the nicest people I know. You could wear a cat as a hat and she’d still love it,”

“Nah, I think that’s more your style,”

Taylor laughs to herself a bit more, but when neither of the move to say anything she starts to pick up pieces of her rice off of the paper towels Harry rolled out so he refurbished floors wouldn’t get stained.

“Really, though,” Harry starts talking again, “Is it about me?”

“It’s about… picturing the perfect reunion with someone you still have feelings for. Them coming back and saying you should have never been apart at all, that they’re willing to work things out, that they realize they made mistakes and they want to fix them. It’s a simple song, really, but something I still have to keep repeating to my friends’ exes when they ask me,”

“And you showed it to me because…”

She sighs and takes a deep breath, “Because at least at some points in the past year and a half, I’ve wished that you would ask my friends how to get _me_ back, and that’s what they’d tell you. I don’t know if I’d ever want to give it another go, but I guess it’s always nice to be wanted,”

“Taylor, you’re one of them most wanted people in the world. Most men and a large number of women would love to have you,”

“It’s not the same Harry, and you know it,”

They finish their take out in silence. The sounds of their eating bouncing off the walls of Harry’s new place. It’s a weird sight to see, really, since there’s quite a mashed-together collection of furniture he’s got going on. Some stuff he bought off the past owners of the house (leather sofas, an orange velvet wingback chair for his bedroom, some sunchairs for the ridiculous amount of outdoor space he’s got), along with the pieces that Taylor picked out as she shopped around the antique stores of LA (the collection of footstools she can scatter over the house, the runner that fits surprisingly perfectly in the basement hallway, the mirror that Harry’s already hung in his entry).

And she’s even 70% sure that she’s convinced Harry to buy a billiards table. She’ll have to come over and play sometime.

It’s weird being in Harry’s new home, considering they’ve only ever been together in hotel rooms or one night spent in his “permanently under construction” London home. But it’s nice, too, to feel so relaxed.

“Do you ever stop and think about how much money a paparazzi would get for a photo of me leaving your house right now?”

“No,” Harry says quickly, “and I really wish you’d stop thinking about it, too,”


	10. back and forth

“So is that the last song about me?” Harry says, after they’ve thrown their boxes out in the garbage and they’ve broken out a jar of homemade sangria to enjoy together.

“Well,” Taylor’s answers always seem to start with _well_ anymore, “there’s one that I’ve been debating showing you,”

“There’ve been about four of those and you’ve shown me them all so far, so what’s different about this one?”

“All those other songs I debated because they either weren’t totally about you or I thought they weren’t important enough. This… is about you and it’s important. You really need to hear it before the album comes out. It can’t be a surprise,”

“Then what’s the problem?” he says, eyes furrowed in concern.

Taylor drops her voice without even meaning to, “I don’t know if I can stand being in the same room as you when you hear it,”

“You don’t have to-”

“But I can’t be afraid you,” she interrupts, “Or, rather, I can’t be afraid of how I feel with you, right?”

He nods.

“It’s not… It’ll be okay. It’s just very emotional,”

“That’s okay,”

“I know it is,”

She scrolls through her phone to find the song. It sits nicely at the end, rounding out the album nicely. Usually her songs end on an upnote, one that shows that she’s triumphant through all that happened to her over the story she’s just told. This one, though… it’s not really a story of triumph, rather one of survival. A crawl across the finish line instead of a photo finish. It’s a song of moving on and being okay with that, and she loves it. It’s new and scary and exciting, but she pushes the button quickly and throws the phone on the ground as if she’ll change her mind.

The instrumental in the beginning is newer than anything on the album. It’s almost childlike, but Imogen had been a genius for suggesting it. She can’t imagine a sound closer to rain without actually controlling nature.

She curls in on herself, slowly, over the course of the song, tucking her feet under and wrapping her arms around her legs. Sometimes she likes to be tall and commanding: on red carpets when she can tower high like a goddess or with Karlie when she can wear heels and they can be equal. Now, though, she wishes she were smaller and it wasn’t so damn hard to hide.

Harry doesn’t say anything, doesn’t betray a single emotion or even look at Taylor. He keeps his eyes trained to the floor in front of him. They don’t even move when the song stops.

“Don’t apologize,” Taylor says quickly, and it makes him jump, “If you were thinking of apologizing, please don’t. You keep doing that after we listen to songs and that’s not why I wrote them. I didn’t make these to guilt you into feeling bad,”

Harry nods and bites his lip.

“You get it now, though, right?”

He nods again and stretches his legs out on the floor, his knees cracking with the change in position.

“I wrote it with Imogen Heap in London last February between shows at the O2. It was… you were in London. You were there and I knew you’d be there and I thought I’d spend my entire time in London dodging memories of you or mentions of you. Dodging billboards with your face on them or dodging front pages of _The Sun_ talking about us, as if we were going to have a reunion when in reality we hadn’t spoken in months. And then Niall emailed me and wanted tickets and wanted to see me, and of course I said yes because he’s a great person to see and I hated not talking to him just because he was your friend first. Not to mention he was fucking hobbling around on his crutches and it was just impossible to say no to that,”

Harry laughs and it makes her feel better.

“But, I was afraid that seeing him would somehow make me feel… _things_ about us, or make me feel like I was trying to hold on to the past. And then all I could focus on was us being in the same place at the same time and ignoring one another. It was so much to feel and I thought I was going to explode, until I didn’t. I survived,”

“I should’ve called you then-” he interrupts.

“I told you: no apologies. I realized, in the middle of London, as I was cutting off inches of my hair like I had always wanted to do for years but never had the guts to, and as I was sitting with all my friends and just relaxing, that I had shook you off. I shook of the weight of being in one of the most publicized romantic endeavors of the 21st centuries, and I had shaken off the weight of feeling like I was defined by you. I shook off everything, and realized I was my own person,”

“I’m glad,” Harry says, finally, without a start of an apology on his lips, “Because you’re bloody amazing all by yourself. And I’m glad that we had that space if it was what you needed,”

“It was,”

“But… I’m glad we don’t have it anymore. I’m glad we’re talking and doing this,” he gestures between them with his hands, “because I think after that separation, what we really needed was to feel like we could be together,”

“ _Clean_ ’s not the end of the story, just a chapter,”

“I like the title, it’s fitting, and all the metaphors and everything. And, dammit Taylor, it’s one of the more emotional songs you’ve written. And you’ve got a lot to choose from,”

Taylor scoots over until she knocks legs with Harry and tips her head so that it rests against his shoulder. It could be weird, if they let it, but she doesn’t want to. She just wants to sit with Harry and let the weight of everything they’ve been doing the past five months sink in and settle.

“You were a good muse,”

She can’t see him but she imagines he smiles, one of the good ones that show off his dimples so well.

“I’m glad, because you got a kickass album out of the deal. It’s a sick theme, too, with the polaroids and everything. I definitely get the eighties vibe throughout, and no doubt you’re gonna break the nation when you release it. Actually, you’ve already kinda broken everyone with _Shake It Off_. I haven’t met one single person who hasn’t got it stuck permanently in their heads,”

“I’m glad,”

“I really liked that you did this, too. So that, one, we got to talk again. Which has been great and I’m definitely not going to let stop now that we’re done,”

“Deal,” she says, nodding her head awkwardly against the jut of Harry’s shoulder.

“And two, that you’re trusting me with this. It really does mean a lot, I promise,”

“I know. And… it’s almost been like an extension of _Clean_ for me. Showing stuff like this to Karlie and my family has always been easy because they already know my stories and they know only my side so they get it. But you’re really the only person who has all the other details, and to get it all out in the open has been cathartic for me,”

“Cathartic’s a nice word,” Harry whispers before he tips his own head over and rests it on the crown of Taylor’s head, “And I really do feel the same way. It’s been nice to have our own little time to air out our grievances and feelings, our own secret sessions,”

“I like that,” Taylor says quickly, and files that term away for something she’s got cooking in her brain.

“It’s a good album,” Harry repeats.

Taylor smiles wide and says “Thank you”. It feels like the most genuine one she’s given Harry since they started.

“Niall would probably feel the same way, and he told me to tell you that he’d like to hear the album, too, if possible. I told him to fuck off, but as you said he’s kinda impossible to turn down,”

“Tell him it comes out October 27th, and that he can preorder it on iTunes,”

 “What do we do now, then?” he starts as he rocks them gently back and forth.

“I dunno, we could watch some television, I could call Rhett and ask him to bring Olivia over and we could play with her, we could bake some brownies?”

“Or…”

Taylor can feel Harry reach behind him so she sits up and faces him straight-on. She doesn’t know what she’s expecting, but it’s certainly not Harry just pulling out his iPhone.

“I have some songs that maybe you could listen to?”

In all the dreams, in all the nightmares, Taylor’s never considered herself the muse. She’s never saw herself as one worthy of the songs, just worthy of the attention. She’s never imagined someone would write a song like the ones she’s written for Harry, the ones you need to show the person before the rest of the world get their turn. The ones that people listen to and feel involved in, but still have that level of intimacy that brings the two of them together so often.

She’s never imagined she’d receive the gift she so often gives, and that she could feel the flutter in her stomach of something new so soon.

Without saying anything she stares Harry in the eyes and reaches up to brush two fingers across her nose. And without saying anything back, without a lead-in or an explanation, Harry presses play and a new song begins.

**Author's Note:**

> fic tumblr: siempreniall
> 
> main tumblr: kaleidoscope of loud
> 
> None of these events really happened (etc.) and don't show this to anyone involved, please and thanks.


End file.
